


Badlands

by bigtitch



Series: Badlands [1]
Category: Our Girl, Primeval
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25050001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigtitch/pseuds/bigtitch
Summary: After a bad anomaly event Cutter is struggling to cope. Lester forces him to take a holiday. A week fossil hunting on the Durham coast should be nice and relaxing. Unless something else is going on.
Series: Badlands [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140176
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is officially a crossover with Our Girl. Basically I wanted to play with Elvis. However, he only makes a cameo appearance in this fic. There will be a sequel where I get to play with him properly.
> 
> The places in this fic are real (although some are operating under a pseudonym). The people are most definitely not real and any resemblance to a real person alive or dead is completely coincidental.
> 
> Massive thanks to Fififolle for the beta. All mistakes you find are entirely down to me. Also thanks to Fredbassett for huge encouragement to start writing again.

It had clearly been the local kids’ shortcut for years. A path behind the housing estate, through the tussocky grass and under the wire fence to the old industrial estate. Factories half demolished and all abandoned. You'd get yelled at if an adult spotted you, but you'd wriggle under the fence via the gap that was a push for the pre-teens and you'd be gone with the grownups unable to follow. 

When something scaly and clawed had come out of a shining ball of light and started chasing the local kids, that's what they'd done. Run for safety under the wire fence. Only the theropods were slim and lithe and had no problems slipping under to follow the running children.

The ARC team found it more difficult. 

Cutter had been on years of shouts and had never seen the SF guys so desperate. Ditzy was calling in an air ambulance even though he couldn't even see the children. There were just their screams as Ryan and Kermit scaled eight feet of wire fence topped with barbed wire as though pain was something that happened to other people. Finn and Blade half cut, half tore open the fence. And then they were through and running across the pitted tarmac to the first building, desperate to get there even when they knew it was hopeless. 

The screaming had stopped.

They killed the raptors, but it was too late for the children. 

Cutter was thankful that he only had to identify the species of dinosaur. It wouldn't be his job to tell the parents that their children wouldn't be coming home. And could we have hair for DNA or dental records. No, sir, you don't need to come and identify the bodies. Just remember your little girl as she was. There's no need to see what a 75-million-year-old jump-predator can do to a human body. Leave that to the professionals.

Cutter stared into the bottom of one of several whisky glasses that night and wished he had professionals he could leave it to.

++++

Cutter stared at the full coffee pot without seeing it. His empty mug dangled from his hand. He had filled the coffee filter and let the process start, but it didn't seem important anymore. He tried to think of anything that was important anymore. There were reports to write. There were some bones and biological detritus to supervise being catalogued from the latest batch of dinosaur poo Connor had found. Well, stepped in. Stephen was excited by it. He would have been excited about it too, but not now. 

Now he felt old. He tried to think of the last time he felt not young, but just enthusiastic. It had gone in the midst of time somewhere between realising his wife had not just left him to go wandering through anomalies, but had also slept with her students on a regular basis. That revelation had shocked both him and Stephen. And the realisation of the daily grind of trying to protect the general public from an increasing menace of anomalies. 

Trying and failing.

The two dead girls were only the latest in a series of deaths and injuries, a particularly egregious example, but far from alone. They put looking for early mammal bones in archaeopteryx droppings into perspective. Why did they even bother with the science when they couldn't publish what they found? 

His, Stephen's and all the ARC scientists' academic careers were on hold while they worked on this project. And with precious few guarantees that they would ever get recognition for this work. It was too much to ask, surely. And yet, the other task he had to do was go through twenty applications from bright young hopefuls to one of the research jobs. 

Exciting job opportunity for bright, self-starting research assistant. First degree in biology or palaeobiology essential. Experience in dealing with big cats, crocodiles or birds of prey an advantage. Must be prepared to put career on hold. Survival not guaranteed. Excellent healthcare and funeral plan.

Would this be easier if those girls had lived? Or was he always going to get to this grey place sooner or later anyway?

What had happened to the bright eighteen-year-old down from Glasgow, brandishing his good Highers' grades like a banner, full of enthusiasm for his chosen path? He'd been so sure his life's purpose was to gather information from the past. To delve into the rocks and drag out answers of life's origins into the present. 

And what did he have?

The ability to identify the precise species of theropod that had chased two terrified children across an abandoned factory yard. And he could write a paper on the hunt tactics that had left the girls shattered and torn on the ground. He could even make an educated guess on their feeding patterns. Although that research had been abruptly cut short when Ryan and Kermit had opened fire.

All very useful information. And the part of him he hated said, 'Yes, it is. We should document it, so it's not wasted, although it was hard won.'

Helen wouldn't even hesitate. In fact she might even have stopped Ryan and Kermit so that she could watch the raptors feed, seeing as the children were already dead.

Cutter closed his eyes as if that would stop the mental image of Helen doing just that. The sad thing was, he wasn't really doing her an injustice. Not the way he had last seen her.

++++

'Are you conducting some kind of psychic experiment, Professor?' Lester appeared at the doorway to the kitchen.

Cutter shook his head to clear it of the grey wool that had surrounded his brain. 

'What?'

'When I went past five minutes ago you were staring at the coffee pot. Now I come back and you are still staring at it. I was wondering if you were trying to move the coffee to your cup by telekinesis.'

Lester walked into the kitchen. Pulled a coffee mug from the rack and poured himself a cup from the coffee pot. He held the pot out to Cutter. Cutter held out his empty cup and let Lester fill it. 

'Thanks.'

'Not your fault, Nick.' Lester might have been reading out a boring headline, but his eyes held only sympathy in them.

'But…'

'Not your fault. The mission report, the public inquest, the private inquest and an audit by some decidedly unfriendly civil servants all agree. The ARC did all it could. The procedures were sound. We got there as quickly as humanly possible. It was just bad luck.'

'Bad luck! Two girls were mauled to death!'

'Fate, then. If you prefer. We can't win them all.'

'We should have.'

'Would you expect the ambulance service to save all traffic accident victims?'

'No, but…'

'Would you expect the fire service to rescue everyone?'

'No.'

'The police?'

Cutter hung his head. He could see where this was going. 'No.'

'Then why us?'

'We're not one of the emergency services!'

'Aren't we?'

'Well we're…' Cutter tried to marshal his arguments against Lester's logic, but failed.

Lester went on, gently relentless. 'Just because we're secret and have a niche remit, doesn't mean we're not an emergency service. Our procedures are certainly based on the existing services. I know, because Lorraine did the copying and pasting. We have the same duty of care, but that means we face the same realities. We can't win them all. Give yourself the same break that you'd give the police or the paramedics. It wasn't your fault.'

Cutter admitted defeat. 'I'll try.'

'Good. Why don't you try murdering some inoffensive paper target on the firing range? It's what Ryan and co have been doing since they got back from that shout.'

Lester left before Cutter could give that suggestion the reply it deserved. 

Cutter took a drink from his coffee and walked out of the kitchen. Halfway to his office he stopped, thinking. Maybe shooting holes in something wasn't such a bad idea after all. He turned back and headed to the armoury. Keeping his skills up was important. And it was better than dinosaur poo.

++++

'This won't hurt,' Helen said as she started to push her fountain pen through his biceps.

Cutter, standing in front of the ADD in the ARC atrium, found that it didn't. It was cold and he felt the ink tickling as it ran down his arm, but it wasn't pain. The biros stuck through his forearms moved unpleasantly under his skin as he sharpened the pencil, but it wasn't pain. He handed the sharp pencil to Helen and she took it with a smile.

'Now for the last,' she said and took hold of his lips with her left hand and brought the pencil point up to them with her right.

'No,' Cutter said. 'It's not right.'

Helen held her head on one side. 'But if you won't write, we have to do something.'

'Not this.'

'It doesn't matter. Let me show you.'

Helen let go of him and started to push the pencil through her own lips. She smiled and her mouth widened, splitting her cheeks apart, revealing teeth and bones in a hideous permanent grin. Cutter could hear the little girls screaming.

He woke up. The alarm clock was screeching. He raised a hand and switched it off with a heavy movement. He slowly sat up. The final image of his dream stayed with him. It was what a raptor's claw had done to one of the girls. Split her cheek open, her white teeth shocking against the blood and flesh. Even when he wasn't reliving the moment in his dreams they were still there. 

He sighed and got up. Time to start another day.

++++

Cutter was in Lorraine's office, handing in his latest expense sheets, when the ADD alarm went off. He slammed the papers on her desk and was running down the ramp into the atrium before he'd consciously decided what he was doing. From his left, he saw a black figure moving as quickly and he and Ryan arrived at the desk at the same time.

'Where?' Cutter asked.

Connor stared at the moving indicator on the map. 'Wales,' he said. The indicator slowed and then came to a stop in the north of the principality. 'Caernarfon.'

'We'll need choppers,' Ryan said. 'Can we narrow it down?'

Connor pressed a few buttons and the displayed zoomed in. 'Let me see,' he said. 'Actually it might be Anglesey.'

'Can't you tell?' Cutter leaned forward, wanting to take the keyboard away from Connor.

'It's not that easy with it being on the coast. It might be in the sea.'

Suddenly the display changed. The indicator flickered and then disappeared. The map zoomed out to show the whole of the British Isles. The red light switched off and so did the alarm.

'What's wrong with it?'

Connor tapped a few keys and then sat back in his chair. 'Nothing. The anomaly has closed. It's not there anymore.'

'Did you get a fix on it?'

'A rough one. Good enough for the local police. I'll forward it on to them and they can go and check it out.'

'No. We need to go.'

Connor turned round in his chair. 'There's no need. It was only open for seconds, really. The chance of anything getting through are really small.'

'I don't care. We have to check. What if something did come through?'

Connor looked at Ryan worriedly.

'Connor's right, Professor. The local police will get there quicker than we can. If there's need they'll let us know.'

'But they're not the ones who know what to do. Anything could happen.'

'They'll handle it. This happens every week practically. It's the process,' said Ryan.

Cutter was nearly incandescent with frustration. Why weren't people listening to him? 'I don't care about the process. That anomaly could have opened anywhere. It could have been in a school. Right now, children could be in danger. We have to get there!'

It was strange, like ripples but in reverse. Cutter suddenly became aware of standing in a pool of silence that thickened around him. He looked at his hands and found them grasping Ryan's lapels. Ryan was eyeing him warily but wasn't making any moves to brush him off. In fact, Ryan was clearly not making any sudden moves at all.

Cutter let go and dropped his hands to his sides.

'Ah, Professor. As there doesn't seem to be an emergency happening, could you come and help me with something in my office, please?' Lester's words were calm and measured, but that didn't stop them being an order.

++++

'You need a holiday, Nick.'

Lester spoke the words as soon as Cutter's backside had hit the seat of the chair. 

'Look, I know I over-reacted there a bit. But…'

Lester shook his head. 'Why are you trying to argue this?' Lester clicked on something on his laptop screen. 'You have 30 days leave a year. You carried forward the maximum five from last year. It is six months into the current leave year and you have taken a grand total of four days holiday. We'd be having this conversation soon even if you hadn't had a near death experience in the atrium just now.'

'Near death? What do you mean?'

'What else would you call grabbing an SAS captain by the lapels?'

'Oh,' Cutter was in no mood to be entertained. 'I can't, though. I just can't. What if it happens again?'

'Then we will handle it. And we will handle it better with you rested and recovered from the previous incident.'

Cutter shied away from what could happen with him gone from the ARC.

He shook his head.

Lester stood up from his chair and moved to Cutter's side of the desk.

'Nick. I am trying to help you here. I don't want to start calling things PTSD when the trauma isn't that post. But you are clearly not over the deaths of those two girls. Now, I have tried giving you space, I have tried pep talks to little success. I am giving you one last chance to get yourself sorted without the use of mental health professionals. Go away from here and spend some time relaxing and not putting yourself in stressful situations.'

'And if I don't?'

'I will put you in front of Dr Miller and get you on enforced medical leave until you can prove to her you can function properly in this team again.'

Cutter looked into Lester's eyes and saw determination mixed with a certain amount of compassion.

Cutter had to admit defeat. 'OK, I'll take some time off.'

'No. Away from here. Far away. On holiday away.'

'That's…'

Lester didn't give Cutter the chance to finish. 'Go and talk to Lorraine and she will arrange things.'

Cutter opened his mouth to object.

'My final word. Either that or Dr Miller.'

Cutter subsided. 'All right,' he said, a touch ungraciously. 'I'll talk to Lorraine.'

Lester smiled as though they had been discussing routine options for a weekend break. 'Don't let me keep you. You can take the rest of the day off, as well.'

++++

Cutter walked through the door to Lorraine's office.

She looked up and smiled at him.

'Professor. Take a seat.' She moved a file from a chair beside hers. 

Cutter sat beside her. 'I suppose you know that Lester has gone all 'mother-hen' about things.'

She nodded. 'I'd seen the signs. He can be persistent when he wants to be.'

Cutter snorted at the understatement.

'So where do you want to go?'

Cutter thought and drew a blank. 'I don't know. I hadn't thought about going anywhere when I woke up this morning!'

'OK. Where do you normally go on holiday?'

'Fossil beds with students. Jurassic coast, mostly. Some trips abroad.'

'Where do you go for fun?'

'Fossil beds with students. Seriously.'

'So sun, sea and sangria is out of the question?'

Cutter shuddered. 'I can't think of anything worse.'

'UK or abroad?'

'UK, I don't want language hassles.' Cutter didn't mention that he couldn't stand the thought of not being within call.

Lorraine made a note. 'Inland or the sea?'

Cutter thought for a bit. 'Sea. I want to wake up with a view of the sea.' He thought a bit more. 'And self-catering. I want the place to myself. Could you do me a lighthouse? I don't want a kiss-me-quick resort.'

Lorraine smiled and made notes.

Cutter dropped his voice. 'And something useful to do.' He glanced towards Lester's office. 'Not chasing anomalies, but … '

Lorraine smiled. 'I'll have a word with Sarah. Maybe some suggestive local legends to chase down?'

'Yes. Something like that.'

'I'll see what I can do, Professor.'

'I don't do nothing very easily,' Cutter confessed.

'I understand. Anything else?'

Cutter shook his head. 

++++

Cutter was stuffing socks into his shoes when the doorbell rang. He paused his packing and went down to answer it. Stephen was standing on the doorstep, looking a little conspiratorial.

'Hello, I wasn't expecting you.'

'I hope I'm not interrupting your packing.'

Cutter stepped aside and gestured for Stephen to come through the door. 'You are, but not badly. I don't have much to pack.'

'Don't forget your underwear.' Stephen grinned, knowingly.

'That was just the one time!' Cutter shut the door. 'Come on through.'

Cutter left Stephen in the living room and retrieved a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge.

Stephen accepted his bottle and drank gratefully. 'That's good. So you've been putting Lorraine's organisation skills to the test, I hear.'

'I'm amazed. I thought I'd given her an impossible list. A lighthouse, self-catering, fossils,' Cutter ticked the items off on his fingers. 'And some historic monsters. And she came up on all of them!'

'You're kidding! Where?'

'Lumley Hill Tower on the Durham coast. Not a lighthouse, but the next best thing, apparently.' 

'Fossils?'

'Wash out of the cliffs every so often. Historic creatures supplied by the Lambton Worm of song and fable.'

'Oh, I think I know that one. Generally when exiting from folk pubs when the singing started.'

'Well, it's something to look for. And,' Cutter took a drink of beer, 'apparently an old uni friend lives close by.'

Stephen caught the implication of Cutter's words. 'Lorraine knows way too much about us.'

'It's scary.'

Stephen fished inside his jeans pocket. 'I have something else for you.' He pulled out a USB drive and handed it to Cutter. 'Courtesy of Connor, who was being a bit too secretive if you know what I mean.'

Cutter took the drive. 'What is it?'

'Extracts from the MoD UFO archives, apparently. Looks like there was some activity at local radar stations during the war that might be anomaly related.'

'That's good. Don't tell Lorraine.'

'What makes you think she doesn't know already?'

Cutter took a resigned swig of beer. 'Good point. Well made.'


	2. Chapter 2

The sun came out as Cutter left the A1(M) following the directions on his satnav and the sign towards Thirsk and Teesside. The traffic diminished considerably and Cutter relaxed slightly. He wriggled a little in his seat. Even in his comfortable Audi a drive to the north east from London up the A1 was not that easy. He realised he'd never actually driven this far up the east coast before. He'd been on the train from Edinburgh to London a couple of times, but he was a west coast Scot and most of his train journeys had started in Glasgow and ended in Euston. This was new.

It was, he decided, all a bit too rural. He knew, intellectually, that even at the height of its industrial power, the north east of England had never been paved from Pennines to North Sea by coal mines, ship building and railways, but he'd expected more signs of it than he was seeing here. All about him were fields, a line of hills to his right and abundant hedgerows still clinging to the fading remnants of the hawthorn blossom. There were hand painted signs for farm produce, free range eggs, manure and hay. Brown tourist board signs pointed to historic abbeys and castles. It was as green and pleasant a land as any that Blake had envisioned.

The road signs for Teesside gradually stopped and started becoming more specific. He could turn off for Thornaby or Redcar. A smaller sign for Ingleby Barwick reminded him that he was still in the land of the Danelaw where the place names reflected their Norse conquerors. The junctions came more frequently now with roads off to housing estates just visible behind the cutting and trees of the road. The traffic was also building up. It was just about half past three. Too early for rush hour, it must be the school run traffic. 

Without much warning the road climbed up. It wasn't a hill, but a long bridge over a river with narrow water between muddy banks. The Tees, Cutter's brain supplied. And here was the industry he'd been missing. Low corrugated buildings of light industry and, on his right as the road descended again, a complex of towers, chimneys, buildings and pipework. There was a haze over it, a yellowy stain against the blue sky and white clouds.

THE NORTH(A19) the overhead sign said, not even making a concession to being 'The North East'. No, this was 'The North', the 'Real Thing'. 

'And don't you forget it,' Cutter muttered out loud.

And then, to be contrary, it was back to rolling countryside and little farms. The mileage on his satnav ticked down. Ten miles to go. Eight miles. Seven. A blue sign appeared at the side of the road. 'County Durham Land of the Prince Bishops.' Four miles. 

'Take the next exit,' his satnav instructed. 'At the roundabout take the first exit, B1283.'

Cutter obeyed and drove under a bridge that carried the road he'd just driven on, past a church, some old houses and some new ones trying to look old. The satnav was telling him to look out for his next turn, but for a moment Cutter was paying it no attention. Just visible, with no fanfare there was a line of blue past the roofs of the houses below him on the hill. It was bluer than the sky. Suddenly, there was the sea.

The satnav squawked insistently, and Cutter came to himself just in time to take the junction on the left safely enough, but without signalling first.

He drove down the country road with half an eye out for another glimpse of the sea, but it hid from him and all that was visible was fields.

A steep hill was ahead of him and a sign 'Mayfield'. He was nearly there, this was the village his holiday let was near. There was a scattering of bungalows along the road and then another sign to a right turn, 'Mayfield'. Hang on, wasn't he already in Mayfield? Cutter squinted suspiciously at the satnav, but a sign for Lumley Hill Riding School and Holiday Cottage attached to the fence at the turn reassured him.

He drove down the road which became narrower and narrower with trees shading it. He came to a fork in the road beside a modern bungalow. 'No Entry,' one sign said by the left fork, 'Lumley Hill Farm Traffic Only'. Cutter followed that road. The surface was still tarmac but clearly older than the road he'd just been on. There were some holes in it but nothing too bad.

In any case, the sea was no longer hidden. It was there in front of him, like a second horizon past the green of the land. He turned left, going around a field boundary and he saw his destination. A grey, square, two storey tower. Beside it was the farm, the usual jumble of buildings with a glimpse of green lorry trailers behind it.

'You have reached your destination,' the satnav said.

Cutter pulled up to the tower and got out. He stretched. He felt relieved to have got there and pleased with what he was seeing.  
++++  
Cutter looked back towards the plain two storey house that he assumed was the farmhouse. It wasn't romantic, being square with a greyish pebble dash. A newer, white extension was attached to one side. It looked built for practicality rather than looks.

Cutter glanced back at the tower. The door looked shut firmly. He wondered if he should have stopped off at the farmhouse before driving up to the tower.

He started walking towards the farm. He hadn't gone more than a couple of steps when the farmhouse door open and a man stepped out. He held up his hand to stop Cutter's progress and then pointed back the way Cutter had come.

Cutter took that to mean he was to wait by the tower.

As the man got closer, Cutter could see he was a square set man in his fifties with a bit of a beer belly. He was very blond, nearly platinum, but Cutter thought it had to be natural.

The man strode up to him and smiled.

'You must be Nick. I'm Dave Middleham.' He stuck out his hand.

Nick shook it.

'I'm sorry, I should have stopped off at the farmhouse.'

'Ah, don't worry yersel about that. I'm always out and about anyway.' Middleham had a strong north east accent. 'Here's the keys.'

He handed them over.

'Anything to sign?' 

'Nah, it's all done on the computer. You'll find an information pack by the TV. It's got the WiFi password and tourist stuff about what you can do around here. And there's a little snack basket, Anne puts that up with our compliments.' Middleham smiled.

'That's great, thank you.'

'Just one thing,' Middleham's smile slipped a little. 'You're welcome to walk where you like on the farm as long as you keep out of the crop fields. But we are a working farm and it's best if you keep away from the equipment sheds and the lorry trailers. I don't want to frighten you, but it's safer if you keep away.'

'I understand,' Cutter said. 'Thank you.'

Middleham nodded. 'Great then. I'll leave you to it. Just knock on the farm door if you need anything. I'll be around or Anne will. Nice to have you with us.’

He nodded again and turned and walked back up the little track towards the farm.

Cutter picked out what looked like the main door key from the set and walked towards the tower.

++++  
Cutter turned the key in the lock, opened the door and stepped into a modern kitchen with light cabinets and black marble counters. A door led into the living room which had French windows leading back out to the car park. Upstairs there was a single bedroom, with no windows but a skylight, a double bedroom and a small, but functional bathroom. It wasn't going to win any design award, but it looked clean and comfortable and Cutter asked for no more.

He fetched his cases from the car and dumped them on the double bed. He unzipped one, but then decided he needed a cup of tea more than he needed to unpack. Middleham had been right about the welcome package. There was a basket on the table in the living room. It included a pint of milk, tea and coffee sachets and some shortbread biscuits. He opened the packet while the kettle boiled.

He was disappointed that he couldn't find a way up to the roof of the tower as he would have liked to have stood there with a view over the sea. He settled for taking his cup with him through the French windows to a little garden seat that at least let him look out over green fields while he dunked his shortbread in the hot liquid.

All he could hear was the sound of the wind over the grasses, the call of the odd seabird and faint but audible, the endless rushing murmur of the sea. 

Cutter started to relax a little. Maybe this holiday idea wouldn't be too bad. 

He took a picture of the tower on his phone and went back inside. He liberated his laptop and hooked up to the WiFi at only the third attempt.

He wrote an email to Lester. 'Lorraine is a miracle worker! She found me a castle for a week! Hope things are going OK.' He attached the picture he'd just taken and hit 'Send'. 

By the time he'd unpacked and come back down to the lounge there was a reply waiting for him in the inbox. 

'Nice try,' Lester said, 'but you are on holiday to not worry about what is happening back here. I'll pass your compliments on to Lorraine. Enjoy your break from the normal routine.'

Cutter read that in Lester's most quelling tone and gave a wry smile. He thought about logging on to his work email, but decided the attempt would probably be futile. If Lester hadn't thought about that avenue of attack, Lorraine most certainly would. 

He clenched his fists against a wave of near panic. He didn't think he was irreplaceable to the functioning of the ARC, but he wanted to know what was happening there. He had wrung a promise out of Connor that he would tell him if anything was going wrong, but now he was sure that Lester had also made Connor promise the exact opposite. There was no doubt in Cutter's mind who Connor would obey under the circumstances.

Cutter stood up. He knew sitting around and brooding would be no good. He checked his watch. There was still an hour of sunlight left. Time to explore the area a little at least.  
++++  
Cutter stepped out of the door and headed towards the farmhouse. The low sun stretched his shadow out beside him and it pointed towards the sea. He couldn't see anyone around and he wondered what the best way was to get to the sea. He kept on the road he had driven down that afternoon. A track led off from it towards the east and he followed it in the hope it might go somewhere useful. It skirted round the side of the main farm buildings and led towards a field which was home to half a dozen articulated lorry trailers. All but two were the refrigerated type and painted in a dark green livery. 'Scott's Transport' said the logo. Cutter didn't know if Middleham's warning about keeping away from the farm buildings applied to the trailers, but he decided not to risk it on his first day at the farm and turned to walk along the side of the fence.

He quickly came across another set of buildings, low and made of wood. Stables and an exercise ring. This would be the Livery Stables part of the farm. It looked clean and well kept. He walked past it and found himself at another track that seemed to be heading towards the sea.

The land sloped gently down towards the coast. Cutter was surprised when suddenly there was a woosh and a two carriage passenger train passed a few hundred metres in front of him. He stood irresolute for a few moments. If there was a train then that would mean tracks between him and the sea. He considered turning back, but then decided that the track he was on had to go somewhere and he kept on. His persistence was rewarded a couple of minutes later when he found a narrow footbridge over the rail tracks. From the middle of the bridge he could see the railway tracks running parallel with the coast. Confident of at least making some progress, he walked down the other side and kept on towards the east.

His progress was finally halted by coming to the edge of a cliff. There was a little sign attached to a stand. 'Cauldron Point' it proclaimed and said it was part of the Durham Heritage Coast Walk. Cutter went to the edge of the cliff and cautiously peered over. The limestone glowed like pale butter in the low light. He could see that two beaches lay on either side of this little headland. Both beaches were scattered with rocks, which gave him hope for fossil hunting in the future, but he could see no way down to them in the present.

He gave up the fruitless quest and gave into the moment. This was what he wanted wasn't it? The sea? It lay before him, restless, but not rough, shining, but with a tinge of lavender approaching from the darkening sky. He made a note to buy a present for Lorraine before he left the area. She deserved something for arranging this.

He turned, finally, towards the land and was struck by how low the sun had got. He walked quickly back the way he came. He didn't want to be caught in the dark. He automatically checked his pockets for a torch and remembered that he'd left it in his day pack at the tower. Well, he'd just have to make sure he got back quickly.

The sound of horse's hooves reached him as he got to the track past the stables. A horse and rider were approaching him from out of the sunset. As they drew close, the rider dismounted and walked the horse towards him. Cutter saw that it was a woman.

'Hello. Are you our new lodger?'

'I think so. I'm staying at the tower. You must be …?' Cutter struggled to remember the name Middleham had told him earlier.

'Anne,' the woman supplied. 'How are you finding it?'

'Very nice. I was just out for a walk. I was hoping to get down to the beach.'

Anne pointed back the way she had come. 'You need to go back that way and there's a little road that'll lead you down into the dene and you get down to the beach that way.' She hesitated. 'You weren't thinking of swimming, were you?'

'No. At least, not tonight.'

'That's good. You can swim from Seaham beach safely enough, but Mayfield beach there has a wicked undertow.'

'I'll bear that in mind, thank you.'

They walked on in silence for a little while and Cutter cast around to find something to talk about. His gaze fell on the lorry trailers in the field.

'Are you in the haulage business as well?' he asked.

'No, just the parking business. If you're going to survive as a farm today you need to diversify. I run the stables and the tower. Dave came up with the idea of turning a field into a place for lorry firms to store trailers. Of course, half of them are for one of his cousins, so they don't bring in as much as they could. But what can you do?'

They reached the gate to the stables. The horse she was leading whickered and tossed its head.

'I'd better get this lump back to his stable,' Anne said. 'I hope you enjoy your stay. Let me know if you need anything.'

Cutter nodded and raised his hand in farewell as she disappeared round the corner of the stable block. He checked his watch. Time for a ready meal and a beer. He thought. A holiday here might not be all that bad.  
++++  
Cutter was driving along a long, straight road. It was wide, but somehow every time he met another car coming the other way it wasn't wide enough for them to pass each other. Cutter was always having to pull over and let the other car squeeze past. It made him anxious each time it happened because he didn't want to scrape the side of his van. It was very important that his van didn't get damaged. Ryan was sitting in the passenger seat giving him instructions about the right way to do a three point turn in an articulated lorry. No matter how many times Cutter told Ryan they weren't driving that kind of lorry, Ryan just kept saying he was wrong and he should ask Lester.

It took so long to drive and Cutter felt so tired in the dream that he could barely stand when they got to the petrol station. He put the nozzle from the pump in the van's petrol tank, but it just clicked and wouldn't start pumping fuel. Boris Johnson came out of the shop and said he had to pay first because of security.

Cutter couldn't pay in money because he couldn't find his wallet. So he was going to have to pay in fossils. That was fine because he had a lot in the van. They were all big slabs of slate in piles in the back. When he started to move them there was something moving under them. He pulled slate after slate away and found it was a girl with her face torn apart, teeth and jaw bone exposed like the girl the raptors killed at the anomaly site.

Cutter woke up, his chest heaving like he'd been running. It was nearly pitch black and he fumbled to find the light on the unfamiliar bedside table. He found it eventually. And pulled himself up until he was sitting. He took a drink from the glass of water he'd put by his bed. 

He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He could deal with thoughts and unreasonable fears during the day. But what was he supposed to do about dreams?  
++++  
Cutter had half planned to wake up early to take in the sun rising over the sea, but as it turned out the sun was well up before he was. He had to be content with a cup of coffee on the bench outside the tower instead. At least he got to see some of the sun before clouds from the west came over and turned the morning grey.

While his breakfast supplies ran to toast and jam, Cutter fancied something a bit more substantial for his first morning on holiday. The information pack in the tower suggested a couple of local supermarkets and Cutter headed off with the directions for an Asda superstore in his satnav as being the most likely to be still doing a cooked breakfast at ten o'clock.

Fifteen minutes and a multitude of roundabouts later, Cutter pulled into the car park and got a space close to the main door. He walked into the store, his mind more on breakfast than shopping, and was handed a leaflet by a woman standing by the entrance. He took it on automatic pilot and went straight to the cafe.

His breakfast came quickly and he was soon tucking into bacon, sausage, black pudding, egg, beans, tomato and hash browns, smothered in brown sauce. His cup of tea was hot and strong. The table didn't wobble. All was good with the world, at least for a little while.

Hunger sated, Cutter was making a mental list of groceries as he tidied up his tray. As he did so he found the leaflet he had picked up on the way into the shop. It was a picture of a North African woman and a young girl. They smiled nervously out of the picture, the girl was in a British school uniform. It looked like a 'first day at big school' photograph. The text was less happy. 'Missing!' It said. 'Naziah and Fadwa disappeared from their home last Tuesday. If you have information about their whereabouts please contact Durham Asylum Support on …' The leaflet gave a phone number to call. Cutter left the leaflet on his tray as he put it on the rack. He would have no information to give. It dented his mood a little. Tragedy and misery were everywhere, no matter how much he wished to escape them.

He picked up his basket and tried to concentrate on the here and now. His job was to relax, look for fossils and see what he could find out about the radar station’s UFOs. Cutter gave a wry smile at the combination. That was definitely more fitted to Connor than to him. If someone had told him five years previously that this is what he'd be doing he would have been in incredulous laughter. What would his life had been like if he hadn't followed Connor's lead up to the monster sighting in the Forest of Dean? The anomalies would still be happening. People would still be dying. Maybe the ARC would still be there. But he wouldn't. Cutter admitted to himself that he didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

He shook his head. No, that was not a line of thought to follow. Some things were best left unexamined. He walked along the cereal aisle and tried to remember which type he preferred. Stick to what's here in front of you, he told himself, not what might have been.  
++++  
Cutter got back to Lumley Hill Tower just after lunch. He packed away his shopping and made a cup of tea while he organised his fossil hunting kit in his backpack. A sudden nostalgia hit him as he put together his geologist's hammer, magnifying loupe, photographic measuring scale, plastic box, pencil and notebook. He opened the book. His last entry was dated five years ago. That brought him up short. How had the time passed by so quickly? How had he let this part of his life go without noticing it?

He also picked up the anomaly detector he had sneaked out of the ARC, knowing that Lester would not approve. This was part of his life now. He had turned from fossil dinosaurs to dodging live examples. 

Still, he should have noticed that he'd stopped fossil hunting at least, shouldn't he?

He followed the path he had taken the night before past the farm buildings, the lorry trailers and the stables, but this time he turned up the track where he had met Anne. This path went on for a few hundred metres before turning south and leading him to a little steep-walled wooded valley. The track turned west, but a path now led Cutter down the side of the valley.

He followed it down, warily keeping his balance on the pebbles that made sections treacherous for the unheeding. He soon found himself on the bottom by a trickle of a stream and an abundant growth of wild rhubarb. He walked beside the stream, under a single arched viaduct that must carry the train line and then came out on to Mayfield beach.

His first thought was that Anne Middleham's warning not to bathe from it was totally unnecessary. This beach was far from the sandy shores of his youth on the west coast of Scotland. It was even a good distance from the shingle beaches of the English south coast. This was half gravel, half dirty sand with a few boulders thrown in for good measure. It was as if the land and sea were disputing over who was in charge with no clear winner yet. 

A concrete pill box, left over from World War Two, added to the feeling of neglect and lack of welcome. Cutter poked his head through the doorway and only had a second to take in soot stains and graffiti before the stench of ammonia assaulted him. He pulled back quickly. Clearly this was the impromptu public toilet for the area.

He walked along the bay at the cliff bottom, keeping an eye out for likely stones. None caught his eye, but he came across three stone and brick arches cut into the cliff face. Two were tumbledown, but one had clearly been restored in recent times. They all extended about two metres into the cliff face and were large enough for him to stand up without having to so much as bend his head.

Cutter was at a loss to explain their use. Some kind of rock shelter dwelling? He'd had no inkling of such cave dwellings in the UK, at least not outside of prehistoric times. And these arches were definitely not that. He added it to his list of things to research when he got back within WiFi range and went on with his search.

It proved fruitless. So far the existence of fossils on this coast was proving to be no more than a rumour. In the end he sat on the most comfortable looking boulder he could find, cracked open a bottle of water from his pack and stared at the sea.

The tide was coming in. He marked it by its progress towards points he picked on the foreshore. That rock. That patch of seaweed. He checked to see if his way back was in danger of being cut off, but relaxed when it was clear that he was above the high water line. 

He finished his drink, sat for a few more minutes and then stood up. If he wasn't going to get anywhere with fossils today, then maybe he should look at the UFO research Connor had supplied him.

He was passing the farmhouse when Middleham appeared round the corner carrying a box of bedding plants.

'Hi, Nick. How are you finding the tower?'

'Very comfortable, thanks. You can't beat the view from the bedroom window.'

'Been down on the beach?'

'Yes. Fossil hunting. Didn't find any.'

Middleham shifted his burden to his left hand and pointed north. 'You need the next beach for that, not the near one.'

'Thanks,' Cutter turned to go and then stopped. 'Actually, do you know what those arch things are in the cliff?'

'Those'll be the lime kilns. They used to take limestone from the cliffs and burn it to produce quicklime for mortar.'

'Thank you. That's saved me time on the internet! I'll let you get on and plant those.' 

Cutter turned away. He hadn't gone more than a few steps when Middleham called after him.

'Er, Nick!'

Cutter turned. 'Yes?'

'Er, Anne and I were going down to the local pub tonight. They do reasonable food and it's steak night tonight. Would you like to come with us?'

'That's very hospitable of you. Yes, I'd like to.'

'Great, be here at seven. If that's OK?'

'That's fine, I'll be here.'

Cutter walked on to the tower. Today was looking up. If he'd come up a blank with fossils, maybe chatting to some locals could shed some light on the mysterious lights.  
++++  
The Middleham family car turned out to be a slightly battered Citroen. Cutter sat in the back seat that bore all the signs of being used for impromptu transport of small farm equipment and supplies. Both of the Middlehams had apologised for the mess in turn, but Cutter was used to the state the ARC vehicles got in and barely noticed.

They passed the little bungalow by the turn that led to the farm. 

'Is it not isolating being this far from the nearest house?' Cutter asked.

'It's not too bad,' Dave Middleham said. 'Better now with cars than it would have been before.'

'It is a bit in winter, when the wind comes off the sea,' his wife chipped in.

'That's what you get for living in The Badlands,' Dave said the last word with a cod Texan accent and a glance over his shoulder at his passenger.

Cutter knew his cue. 'What do you mean, Badlands?'

'My grandad tried keeping sheep for a while back in the 50s. He had to give it up because people kept stealing them. Rustling them.'

'Seriously?'

Middleham nodded. 'Darn tootin'! Well, Grandad reported it and people started making cowboy jokes. The farm got nicknamed The Badlands. You'll still hear some of the old folks in the village call it that, though I doubt most of them could tell you why.'

'What happened to the sheep?'

'Grandad gave it up. Too many sheep went missing to make it worthwhile. Went back to wheat and barley. They're more difficult to steal!' 

Cutter nodded and went back to looking out of the car window. In his head he added 'missing sheep' to the list of things to investigate. He wondered if the sheep disappearance correlated to lights seen by the radar stations.


	3. Chapter 3

The pub was called the Lumley Arms and had a sign on a post at the front painted with what Cutter assumed were the heraldic arms of the Lumley family. He assumed what with Lumley Hill, Lumley Hill Tower and Lumley Hill Farm that the Lumleys were, or had been, the local bigwigs. Cutter's Scottish peasant heritage dismissed them as English, posh and uninteresting.

The pub itself was never going to win awards for Country Pub of the Year. It was white painted and clearly properly maintained, but consisted of a two storey main building with a plain extension tacked on. There were a couple of wooden tables outside with trestle seating, but that appeared to be the sole nod to a beer garden. The two small barrels either side of the door were planted with some flowers apparently chosen for their ability to withstand neglect rather than their beauty.

A proper local, then, not interested in attracting passing visitors.

The main bar was plain but clean with mostly bench seating and a scattering of copper-topped round tables. A trio of men were sitting around one table with a collection of pint glasses between them. They appeared to be deep in discussion of something and barely looked up as the Middlehams and Cutter walked in. Dave Middleham didn't acknowledge them, but led Anne and Nick straight through the door at the right hand side of the bar marked 'Snug'. 

This was a smaller, square room with the turn of the main bar at one end and set out with benches, stools, square wooden tables and a small sideboard blocking what had been another door to the outside. The sideboard was set out with cutlery wrapped in paper serviettes, cruet sets, table mats and a selection of sauce bottles. It didn't seem to be more decorated than the outside had been, but a string of World Cup 2018 England Flags were pinned at the top of the bar.

Anne went straight to what must be their favoured table, sat on the bench seat and gestured for Cutter to sit beside her. Dave went to the bar, leaned over it and yelled 'Shop!'

There was an unintelligible reply from further away than seemed possible in such a small pub. Dave stayed where he was at the bar. A minute later a man appeared from around the corner. 

'Sorry, I was changing a barrel in the cellar.' He looked at who had called him and his attitude changed from apologetic to relaxed. "Hey, Dave. How are you doing, marra?'

'Canny. Canny. How are your steaks tonight?'

'We've got some nice rump steaks in.'

'Good.' Dave jerked his finger over his shoulder at where Nick and Anne were sitting. 'Because we've brought one of our guests over to try them. This is Nick Cutter.' He half turned towards Nick. 'Nick, this is Mike Robson. Mike and I went to school together, so if he tells you any stories about me don't believe them!'

Mike Robson was a short, dark haired man with a slightly discontented set to his face, but he broke into a ready enough smile at the introduction. 'Heh! They're all true, I tell you! Nice to have you here, Nick. I hope you enjoy your stay.'

Anne spoke up. 'Mike! Is Claire in tonight?'

'She should be. She only got back from work an hour ago, so I think she's got some things to sort out but then she'll be down.' He turned to Dave. 'The usual?'

Sorting out drinks and menus took a little time because Dave and Mike needed to have a bit of a discussion as to which beer Nick should try. In the end, Nick broke the deadlock by going with what Dave was drinking. Anne watched this with an amused tilt to her head. When Dave brought their drinks over and sat down on a stool, she sent him back to the bar for the menus.

The menu was a single laminated sheet covering the pub grub classics without venturing into territory more exotic than a 'Thai-style stir fry'. There were two separate sections for Steaks and Curries. As the three of them considered their choices a couple came into the bar. They called greetings to the Middlehams but didn't come over to chat.

'What do you fancy, Nick?' Anne said.

Nick looked at the menu again. 'Can't decide,' he said. 'I don't know whether to go with a steak or the fish and chips.'

Anne leaned in as though she was going to whisper a secret. 'I'd go with the steak.' She glanced to see if Mike could overhear her. 'There's a reason we only come to eat here when it's steak night.'

'Ah. In that case I'll go with the rump steak and chips.'

Dave ordered for all of them and accepted Nick's payment when he got back to the table. They chatted about a few inconsequential things and Anne was in the middle of a story about a happening at the riding school when the door opened a woman entered. Anne broke off her story. 'Claire!'

Claire was of average height, but slightly above average weight. Her clothes tended towards the pink and frilly and as she sat down opposite Nick her jewellery jangled together. She gave Nick a ready and friendly smile.

'You must be Nick. Anne said she'd try and bring you down here.'

'Yes, I am. Nick Cutter. You're Mike's wife.'

'That's right. How are you finding the tower?'

'It's great, really comfortable.'

Claire kept smiling. 'I'm glad. I can tell you we thought Anne and Dave were mad to do that old ruin up and try and make a go of renting it out. But we were wrong. What are your bookings like, Anne?'

'Pretty solid for July to mid September.'

'That's wonderful.'

The talk shifted to some of the problems of dealing with guests at a self-catering apartment. Nick felt himself forewarned about leaving rubbish anywhere but in the bins upon leaving. He also felt himself a bit under scrutiny from the newcomer to the table. Claire was chatty and her mouth had a near permanent smile, but her eyes were watchful and she had a way of listening with more than usual attentiveness that was at odds with the rest of her demeanour.

A man and a woman came into the bar. 'Is the landlord here?'

'That's me,' Mike said.

'Can we ask you to put up one of these flyers, please?' The woman pulled out a sheaf of A4 papers and handed a couple over. 'It's for Fadwa and Naziah. You know the refugees who've gone missing from Seaham.'

'Yeah, no problem.' Mike took them and glanced towards Claire.

'Put them up on the bar and the notice board by the main door,' she told him. 'That way more people will see them.'

The leafleters thanked them and left. As Claire turned back to the table Cutter caught a strange, knowing look on her face.

'Am I missing something?' he asked her.

'Claire's a social worker,' Anne said.

'Are you their social worker?'

Claire shook her head. 'No, thank god. I'm with adult services. It's just this hype is a bit overdone. Refugees go missing,' she put air quotes around the word, 'quite a bit. More often than not they've just wandered off. Look, most of them come from places without a functioning police service let along social services. So letting your social worker know where you've gone isn't top of the list of priorities for a lot of them. They're much more likely to be found in Whitley Bay or Blackpool than dead in a ditch. So I reckon this campaign is a bit of a waste of time.'

She might have said more but Mike arrived at the bar counter with the food and Claire got up to help serve it. 

They ate their steaks and Cutter was relieved to find that Anne's advice had been right. He didn't know what the Lumley Arms' fish and chips were like but his steak was excellent. He noticed Dave's glass was empty and Anne's was getting low, so he got up to get the next round in. When he brought the glasses back to the table, Claire was back sitting in the seat opposite him again.

'So, Nick what do you do for a living?' Her eyes were watchful again, but Cutter thought he knew the source of that. Social workers were trained to pay attention to what people said.

'I'm a scientist. I work for the government.'

'He's looking for fossils,' Dave said.

'What? Government fossils?'

Cutter gave a short laugh and shook his head. 'Not exactly. I work on a kind of early warning system. Fossils are what I do in my spare time.' He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice for that last sentence, but wasn't completely sure he'd managed it.

'Early warning system? That sounds interesting?' Claire leaned forward inviting more information.

'Er,' Cutter began.

'He could tell you, but then he'd have to kill you,' Dave supplied.

Cutter was grateful for the intervention, he hated having to negotiate these kind of conversations. A line of Stephen's came into his head. 'Of course, I wouldn't kill you. I'm a scientist. It'd be someone else who'd kill you!'

Dave laughed loud at that quip and Anne joined in. Claire, although she smiled, wasn't letting him off the hook so easily.

'So you're on holiday looking for fossils, then?'

'Yes,' said Cutter around a mouthful of chip, 'and UFOs. You haven't seen any strange, bright lights along the coast or out to sea, have you?'

The table went silent. His companions didn't exactly drop their cutlery and get to their feet in shock, but Anne and Dave stopped eating and they all looked at him seriously.

Anne broke the silence. 'Fossils and UFOs? That's an odd combination!'

'Well, the UFOs are more for a colleague of mine. When I told him where I was going he looked it up and found some reports by the staff at a radar station that they'd seen strange lights at times.'

'What, you mean government reports?' Dave asked.

'No, this stuff is on UFO spotters' websites,' Cutter said quickly, trying to edge the conversation away from this being some government secret. 'I told my friend I'd ask.'

'Well, you can find fossils in the next beach north from Mayfield beach,' Dave told him. 'You can find what's left of the radar station in the field next to the tower. And a right bugger it is to plough around, I can tell you! But you're on your own with UFOs!'

'To be honest you don't seem the type to be into that kind of thing,' Claire told him. 

Cutter backed away from her gaze a little. 'Like I said, it's more on a friend's account than mine. He's the one that's into that sort of thing. I'm just doing him a favour. Most of the time these things are just based around people not knowing when they're looking at a planet in the sky rather than a star.'

'What planet?' This was Mike coming to pick up the empty glasses.

'UFO's,' Dave told him. 'Sounds like some people reckon we've been visited by ET!'

'Absolutely not,' Mike stated. 

Cutter was surprised at his surety. 

'Look. If any UFO landed round here the local lads would have it stripped and sold for scrap before you could say "Take me to your leader"!'

They all laughed at that and Cutter was careful to turn the conversation away from what he was doing on his stay with them. He made a mental note to look at the remains of the radar station when he got the chance. Negotiating these kind of conversations was always difficult for him. Extracting information was a lot easier with an anomaly to point to and an SAS trooper to back you up.

They stayed for a couple more pints after they had finished their meal and Mike entertained them all with stories handed down about how the village had faired in World War Two. The story about the village's amateur fire-fighters arguing about whose turn it was to hold the fire-hose while a house was burning down was good enough to have been in an episode of Dad's Army.

He thanks Mike and Claire for their hospitality when the time came to leave. Claire told him to come back anytime, but Cutter still felt that her eyes were watchful over her smiling mouth.

++++

It was dark by the time they got to the farm, so Anne, who was driving, took the car right to the door of the tower.

'That was a great evening, thank you,' Cutter said as he got out. 'You were right about the steaks.'

'You're welcome,' Anne said. 'Look if you want good fish and chips then the best place for it round here is the Black Diamond pub on the front at Seaham Harbour. It's nothing fancy, not a gastropub, y'knaa, but they use fresh fish and the portions are good.'

'Thanks,' Cutter said. 'I'll give it a go. Good night.'

''Night.'

Cutter fished for his keys in his pocket as he went to open the door. He might not find any fossils or useful information on this trip, but it looked like he was going to be well fed at least.

++++

Cutter sat in front of his laptop facing the nearly insurmountable task of getting in contact with a friend he shouldn't have lost contact with in the first place.

Liz Burnett was from Aberdeen and he had met her in his first days at university in Brighton. They were on the same floor in halls and had bonded when he'd come across her trying to explain 'tablet' to a bemused Brummie. She was studying Physics, he Palaeontology and there was something about being Scots studying science in England that was enough to keep their friendship going. 

When they had left halls for their second year, they had gone into a shared house together with other friends. It had only been because Cutter had moved in with Helen in his third year that he hadn't stayed sharing the same accommodation with Liz until they left.

Liz hadn't approved of Helen. She'd never said anything against her, but neither had she said anything in praise of her. When Helen disappeared, Cutter looked back at Liz's careful silence on the subject and felt a bit aggrieved. Now he looked back at them and realised Liz was right.

How to reach across those years and those silences?

A sudden picture of Liz standing in the kitchen at halls, cooking tablet for the entire floor came into his mind. She was smiling in his memory and that called an answering smile out of him.

He created a new email.

Hi Liz, 

Long time no see! I should have been in contact a long time ago and I'm sorry. But I'm in the area for a week on holiday and I'd love to meet up with you if we can.

Best

Nick Cutter

PS Do you still make tablet?

It wasn't perfect, but it would do the job. He hit send.

++++

Cutter was running across the tarmac towards the factories again. He could hear the girls screaming, but this time he was alone. He carried a rifle. Even as he raced to save the children that fact bothered him. What was he doing with a gun? He got to the corner where they had found the girls. They were there, prone and bloody on the floor. A raptor was bent over them, tearing at their flesh. He raised the rifle to fire.

The raptor turned its head to him and spoke. 

'Why are you doing this, Nick?' It was Helen's voice.

'What about you? You're killing them!'

'It's what we do, Nick. It's what we are. You have to know that. It's what you are.'

'No!'

Nick raised the rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Nick sat up in bed and found the light switch with less fumbling than the night before. He always hated it when Helen showed up in his dreams, but this one was worse than usual.  
++++  
Before Cutter went UFO hunting he checked through Connor's files on the USB drive that Stephen had given him. He was slightly disappointed to find how little there was. This wasn't going to be a grand hunt for a previously unknown anomaly site. The whole thing consisted of a dozen reports from the Royal Observer Corps stationed at somewhere called Beacon Point during the war that they had seen a bright light in the direction of Mayfield Beach and would the radar station send someone to investigate and get them to put the light out. The inevitable reply from the radar station that they hadn't seen anything, nothing was happening. Somehow Cutter could feel the officer at the radar station getting more and more irritated as the reports went on even though the formal language of the replies didn't change. Maybe Cutter was projecting his own emotions on to it. 

The dates of these reports were interesting, though. They were every six months or so, but not on the same date each time. Someone on the UFO website had looked at the dates and calculated that they matched up with the full moon before each solstice. Cutter thought about the kind of mind that could do that kind of correlation and decided that whoever Makkem73 was they were probably wasted at whatever job they were doing. Connor had helpfully provided a list of dates that corresponded to the full moons before solstices. The last date on the list was tomorrow night. Connor had put some stars and exclamation points next to it.

Cutter might have got excited over that if it hadn't been for the total lack of reports once the war ended. The radar station had stayed operational until the mid 1950s, but it reported no more lights, presumably to the relief of whoever was in charge.

It was slim pickings despite Connor's enthusiastic punctuation marks. Cutter was half way to abandoning it, but then changed his mind. What else did he have to do?

++++

Dave Middleham had been right about where the radar station was. At least the remains of the building lay at the edge of the field next to the tower. There were horses in that field so it looked like he had given up trying to plough there at least for the time being.

Cutter hadn't had high expectations of what he was going to find, but the remnants of the buildings failed to live up to even that. It looked to have been a complex of about five small huts. Now all that was visible through the tangles of nettles and brambles were a few brick walls, cracked concrete slabs and a curved section of corrugated iron roof that gave off the same ammonia smell as the pill box down on the beach. Cutter wondered who bothered to come out here and use it as a toilet, but then accepted that peeing on the place was probably the correct response.

What a waste of time. Cutter walked back to the tower. As he did so he met Dave Middleham who was pushing a wheelbarrow filled with something agricultural.

'You found it then?'

'Yes, thanks.'

'Anything interesting?'

Cutter shook his head. 'No. Nothing. I don't think ET has been visiting.'

Dave laughed. 'I'll tell Mike and Claire they can sleep sound in their beds, then.'

'Yeah. I think the citizens of Mayfield are safe from alien abduction!'

'What are you up to now?'

Cutter thought for a second and then checked his watch. It was nearly twelve. 'You know I think I might try those fish and chips Anne was talking about.'

'Good idea. Tell Alan Scott I sent you and he'll look after you.'

Cutter thanked him and walked back into the tower. Back inside, he pulled out the USB drive from his laptop and shut it down. He picked up his backpack and went back to the door. If the day was going to disappoint him on the research front the least it could do was feed him well.

++++

Google Maps told Cutter that the Black Diamond pub was only a five minute walk away from the ASDA supermarket where he'd gone shopping on his first day in the area. Cutter pulled into the supermarket car park rather go hunting for another place to park that might not exist. It was busier at lunchtime than when he'd visited it first thing in the morning. He chose a parking spot away from the main door and closer to the street and hoped no one would notice him not actually shopping.

The drive to Seaham hadn't sharpened Cutter's appetite enough that he felt like eating straight away. He decided to walk around the centre a little and see what was there. Maybe he could buy a souvenir for Lorraine to thank her for her efforts in arranging this trip. The accommodation was perfect. It wasn't her fault that everything else was turning out to be a bit of a disappointment.

It didn't take Cutter long to realise that he wasn't going to find anything suitable for Lorraine or anyone at the ARC. Seaham was a perfect example of a place hit hard by industrial decline and not really succeeding in pulling itself out of it. He wasn't the expert in architectural history, but it seemed to him that nothing new had been built for twenty years apart from the supermarket he'd just come from. The main pedestrianised shopping street was mostly charity shops and pound stores. Several shops looked like they'd been boarded up for years. There were planters are regular intervals beside metal grill benches, but there was nothing growing in them except weeds, crisp packets and empty beer cans.

There were signs that this had been a prosperous town once. There were some imposing buildings such a masonic hall, a magistrates court with Doric columns and some fine Georgian houses. It was just that the rest of the town seemed shrunken around them. Like an old man putting on his best suit and finding it too big for him. 

There was something else. There were brown tourist road signs for the Harbour and Marina, the Harbour Beach and Seaham Beach, but that was it. Cutter had never been to a seaside town less interested in being a seaside town. There wasn't a single amusement arcade to be seen, not even anywhere to buy a bucket and spade.

Cutter looked at this grey town under grey skies beside a grey sea and was grateful when his stomach rumbled. Maybe food could lift his mood.  
++++  
The Black Diamond pub was on a street overlooking a rectangle of green above the cliffs. It was a three storey, solid looking building, painted grey and with the windows picked out in white. It looked clean and presentable from the outside which gave Cutter hope, but had a large flag of St George in one window which made him wary. The notice above the door informed him that Alan Scott was licensed to sell all intoxicating liquor on or off the premises.

There was a dining room off the hall to the right as he came in, but it looked unused. He took the door to the left and found himself in a large bar room. The tables by the windows were both taken, so Cutter sat at one by the wall. He took off his jacket, put the bag on his seat and made sure he had his wallet with him as he went up to the bar.

A tall man with greying hair and the physique of a rugby player was standing behind the bar polishing a glass.

'Are you Alan?' Nick asked as he came up to the bar.

'Yes. Who's asking?'

'I'm Nick. I'm staying at Dave Middleham's place. They told me to come here for fish and chips.'

'Oh yes? That's good. They send a few people my way. Nice to meet you.' He reached his hand across the bar and gave Nick a firm handshake. He picked up his order pad. 'Where are you sitting?'

Following Scott's advice, Nick ordered haddock and chips with mushy peas. He sat down with a pint of Cloister beer which was as good as he was told it was. There were a dozen men in the bar, which was going in for 'traditional but not overly designed' as decor with old fashioned miner's lamps as the motif. Cutter approved. 

Looking around, Cutter spotted a newspaper on the chair at the window table to his right. 

'Is anyone using this?' he asked the man sitting there.

'No. Please.' The man gestured for him to take it.

The man's accent was more south east England than north east and Cutter looked a little more closely at him as he reached to grab the paper. He was worth looking at. He was young, dark haired and tanned with a face that wouldn't have been out of place in a fashion magazine. He caught the man's eye and they exchanged the quick slightly embarrassed smile of Englishmen who have nearly got close enough to get introduced to each but aren't going to. Still, as Cutter picked up the paper and settled back in his seat he shot the young man another glance. He'd got the strongest impression that he'd been recognised.

How? He hadn't met the young man before. Even Cutter would not have forgotten a face that handsome if he’d met its owner before. He went through every permutation of lecture and meeting that he'd done in the past couple of years and drew a blank. If he didn't know the young man then how did he know Cutter? Was he on a wanted poster somewhere?

Cutter frowned to himself as he opened the newspaper and then he worked it out and it took all of his self control to keep his attention on the paper and not turn to glance or stare at the stranger at the table beside him. It was the way the man sat. The way he was relaxed yet alert. The way he was in one of the best spots in the bar to see everything that was going on without seeming to look. The way he owned the space he occupied. Cutter had seen it often enough for himself, most often in the Ship Inn close to the ARC. It was the way Ryan, Lyle, Ditzy, Kermit and the rest of the special forces guys sat. Cutter would bet good money that the young man was special forces, too, probably SAS. And yes, thinking about it, of course Cutter's picture would appear in briefing notes along with the rest of the ARC team if a troop happened to be on standby in the capital. 

Cutter turned the page in the newspaper he was only pretending to read. But in that case why not say something? It had to be because the soldier was on a job, undercover probably. In that case, it was Cutter's job not to blow it. Cutter forced himself to try and relax. There was nothing to see here, just a visitor reading the paper and wondering when his fish and chips were going to arrive. He wasn't at all aware of anything secret or to do with undercover special forces soldiers. In fact, what special forces? Cutter made himself be very interested in what the food critic 'Mr Eats' had to say about Sunday lunch at the Blue House pub in Haswell Plough.

Luckily, because Cutter's acting skills were strictly limited, his lunch arrived a few minutes later. The haddock was surprisingly large with the chips and peas portions to match. The quality matched the quantity, though, and Cutter had no difficulty in concentrating on eating rather than anything else that was happening around him. 

When he'd made a respectable dent in the food pile in front of him, Cutter sat back in his chair and sipped his beer. A young man in a dark green sweatshirt was standing by the bar, drinking a beer and chatting with the landlord. From the snatches of conversation that reached him it sounded like the man was having girlfriend and mother problems. 

Cutter's presumed special forces guy stood up, walked the length of the bar and disappeared though the door marked 'Gents'. Cutter went back to his meal. A few chips later, the young man in green at the bar also headed off to the toilets. Cutter kept his head down to hide any trace of recognition on his face. That was it then, a meeting with a contact, Cutter was sure of it. 

Cutter ate a couple more chips and then pushed his plate away. He was genuinely full but had no desire to linger in this place that was full of secrets somehow. He picked up his jacket and his bag, complimented Scott at the bar on the food and left before either of the other two men came back. 

He didn't know what was going on and he wanted no part of it. He had enough secrets of his own to be getting along with, thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

Back at Lumley Hill Farm, Cutter decided to walk off his large lunch by retracing his steps in the walk he'd taken on his first evening at the farm. Knowing where he was going meant that he could appreciate the countryside this time around. Even under a grey sky it was beautiful and the air was clear enough that he could see far up the coast in either direction. He could see up the length of what must be Cauldron Bay. There was the harbour of Seaham Harbour just past that. There were some ships, too, possibly heading for Sunderland or Tynemouth. To the south there was a prominent headland. The little information board told him it was Beacon Hill. So that was where the observation post had been. It would have been possible to see lights on Mayfield beach from there. At least Cutter didn't have to worry about checking that out. He'd already done that without knowing what he was looking at. There was nothing on Mayfield beach to worry about. The UFO anomaly project was a non-starter. 

That left mythical creatures. Sarah had mentioned the Lambton Worm, but other than it appeared somewhere on the River Wear he had little knowledge about it. Cutter decided he would have to spend some time doing research before heading into the field to try and spot signs of it. There had to be a nearby library with a local folklore collection. He tried to see if he had any contacts at Durham University who could help. He felt his mood pick up. This was much more his style than UFOs. He'd leave those to Connor.

++++

On the way back to the tower, he passed the field with the lorry trailers and found Middleham cleaning one of them with a long brush and bucket of water. Middleham gave him a wave and Cutter took that as permission to go through the gate into the field he'd previously taken to be off-limits. The farmer quickly put down his brush and walked towards him. They met just before the first row of trailers.

'I just wanted to say thanks for the tip about the Black Diamond,' Cutter said. 'That's some of the best fish and chips I've had in a long time.'

'That's good to hear. But you've been down south so I'm not surprised. I've never had a good fish supper further south than Scarborough.'

'You have something there. I've never found anything that can match a good Glasgow chipper.'

'Eeh, I'm not going to start an argument over that. As long as they're frying in dripping and not vegetable oil they're good by me!'

'I'll not keep you,' Cutter said. 'I just wanted to thank you for a good lunch!'

Cutter turned to go and then spotted something lying in the grass by the fence. He bent and picked it up. It was a plastic doll with long hair and a sparkly dress like a cut-price Barbie. He turned and held it out to Middleham.

'Someone's lost this.'

Middleham took it and his brow clouded for a moment and then he smiled. 'Ah. It's one of Poppy's.'

Cutter looked puzzled.

'My granddaughter. She was over with my daughter at Easter. She must have dropped it. Thanks. I'll put it with her collection here for when she comes again.'

'Do they visit often?'

'Not as much as we'd like. Anne loves to spoil her. You know what grandmas are like. Poppy's got more dolls than she can count.'

'Yes, because granddads never spoil their granddaughters!'

Middleham rubbed the back of his neck in an embarrassed way. 'Only when I need to, y'knaa!'

Cutter nodded and walked back to the tower.

++++

Cutter opened his laptop and logged into his emails. There was a reply to his from Liz.

'Nick! I thought you'd dropped off the planet! I'd love to see you again. I know this is short notice, but how about tonight? 7pm for a bite to eat. Nothing fancy, but we can chat and you can meet the family?'

Liz was right, it was short notice, but Cutter didn't hesitate to accept. What else was he going to do in a tower on the edge of the sea?

++++

Cutter drove slowly through a modern housing estate built on the outskirts of Seaham. He had a bottle of wine sitting on the passenger seat beside him, courtesy of a detour to the ASDA he was now getting to know quite well. He was now trying to follow Liz's directions through a maze of curving streets and inadequate road signage. Eventually he spotted one number nine that seemed to be in the right area. He pulled up on the road outside and got out of the car.

The front door opened and Liz was there. She was wearing glasses now and her hair had a few touches of grey, but her smile was still the same. Nick could do nothing else except respond to it.

'Nick!'

'Liz!'

They hugged.

'You're looking good, Liz.'

Liz pulled apart and gave him an appraising stare. 'You're looking tired.'

'Yeah, it's work,' Cutter said and then tried to brush it off. 'But that doesn't matter here. Have some wine.'

He held up the bottle.

Liz took it. 'Thanks. Come in and meet the family.'

Liz led him into a large open plan living space. All pale walls and pale upholstery, very Good Housekeeping. A young girl in a dark red school jumper was sitting colouring at the coffee table. A broad-shouldered woman with straw-coloured curly hair stood up to greet him.

'This my wife, Katy,' Liz told him. 'And this is our daughter, Maggie.'

'Hello Nick,' Katy said in a local accent. 'Liz has told me lots about you.'

'Now I'm scared!'

Liz bustled off to the kitchen end of the room and Nick bent down to see what Maggie was colouring. She was a little shy, but he must have made the right kind of encouraging noises because she fixed him with a firm gaze.

'Mum says you know everything about fossils.'

'Well...'

'Because I've got a fossil. Or at least I think it is. I found it on the beach. But Mrs Newby says it's just a rock.'

'Oh, well, why don't I have a look at it and we'll see what it is.'

'Good. Mum says Mrs Newby knows lots of things but she doesn't know everything!'

'Maggie!' Liz laughed from the kitchen. 'You're not supposed to repeat that!'

Maggie looked unrepentant.

Dinner was a lasagne with salad, both in large portions. Nick had expected to feel awkward after being out of contact with Liz for so long, but that soon dissipated. They didn't talk of anything momentous. Liz described her life with Katy, who was a family law solicitor in Sunderland. Nick shared what he could about what he was doing. They swapped what gossip they knew about mutual friends. It was more the reconnecting that was important. As he started to pick up the ties that bound them both together he found that there was a reason they had been friends in the first place and that was still there.

Eventually, Maggie, who clearly felt that enough time had been spent on old stories of university days, disappeared from the table and came back clutching her purported fossil.

'This is it,' she told Nick.

Nick took the rock from her and smiled.

'It's a fossil.'

'Really?'

'Yes. What you have there is the back end of a trilobite.'

'What's one of them?'

'You know what a wood louse is?'

Maggie nodded.

'Well, think of a wood louse with the legs of a crab that lived in the sea and that's pretty much what a trilobite is.'

'How old is it?' asked Katy.

'Well, the other fossils round here are late Permian, so 250 to 300 million years ago.'

'Wow! That's old. You hear that, Maggie?'

Maggie wasn't totally buying it. 'Are you certain sure?'

'Maggie!'

Cutter nodded seriously. 'I'm certain sure. You tell your Mrs Newby that a Professor of Palaeontology says this is a fossil.'

'I will!'

Cutter looked apologetically at Liz. 'What have I started?'

After the meal Katy and Maggie joined forces in stacking the dishwasher and Liz took Nick out into the garden while the twilight lasted.

'You were right about Helen,' Nick said.

Liz looked surprised. 'I never said anything about Helen.'

'I know. You were still right.'

'What's up, Nick? I've seen you stressed before. I've seen you having problems with Helen before. I've never seen you this...' she searched for the right word, '... weary.'

Nick sighed. 'I suppose it started with Helen leaving me, but it's not just that. It's been bad at work. And I can't tell you what it is. Just that it's been stressful and then something happened I'm having problems dealing with.'

'I'm sorry. Are they being helpful at work?'

'They're trying to be. But it's more in the nature of what it is. These kind of bad things just happen and sometimes they get to you. Nothing I can do about it unfortunately.'

'Are you sure about that?'

'What do you mean?'

Liz walked over to the garden bench, sat down and patted the space next to her for Nick to join her.

'When I started teaching I was set on it being my career as well as something I loved doing. I was going to do my best to rise through the ranks and be someone who could change the direction science teaching was taking. And raise a flag for women in STEM subjects.'

Cutter raised his glass to her and she smiled ruefully.

'And it was going well. I loved teaching and I did push myself forward to advance. Form teacher. Head of department. Finally I got a job here as Deputy Head at the High School. I arrived full of plans of how I was going to improve things and make it one of the top schools in the county.' Her mouth twisted a little.

'And?'

'And after a while I found I hated it. I was spending less and less time teaching and more time doing admin and managing people. After a couple of years I was starting to dread going into work.'

'What happened?'

'Half way through the summer holidays Katy found me in tears over the thought of going back in September and told me I was being an idiot. And was it all worth it when there were other jobs out there I could do?'

'What did you do?'

'I resigned and got a job teaching at the sixth form in Peterlee. It was a drop in pay, but that was four years ago and I wouldn't swap it for double the money now. I'm so much happier.'

'What about your plans?'

Liz shrugged. 'I'm not the only one with plans, Nick. Now they've got someone with bright ideas and the temperament to follow them through. No one's irreplaceable and, to be honest, they're probably doing better without me.'

'So you think I should give up my job?'

Liz shook her head. 'No, I don't know enough about it to give that advice. But one thing I will say. The most enthusiastic I've seen you all night and the closest to the Nick I knew was when you were explaining a fossil to an eight-year-old. You might want to think about that.'

Cutter shook his head. 'What I do is too important.'

'Maybe,' Liz said. 'But your mental health is important, too, and you have the right to look after it, no matter what pressure people put on you at work.'

She stood up. 'Anyway, here endeth the lecture.'

++++

Cutter was running because he was being chased. He knew that without ever seeing what was chasing him. He was running as something malevolent was on his heels wanting to do him harm. A child was in his arms. A girl. She had long hair and a sparkly dress. Somehow he wasn't holding her close to his chest but arms outstretched as though offering her to someone or something. As he watched, dark red splotches appeared on her dress. He could feel wetness on his hands and arms. Wounds appeared on her arms and legs. Her face started bleeding. Cutter knew the girl was going to turn her face towards him and show her cheek torn apart. Again. Always this picture. Her head moved.

'NO!'

Cutter jerked awake. He'd woken before she could show him that dreadful injury. But it didn't matter. He didn't need to dream it. It was already in his memory.

++++

Nick woke to a world of mist. The view from the living room window was restricted to just to the Middleham's farmhouse and no further. So much for going fossil hunting on Cauldron Beach.

He ate his breakfast in front of his laptop as he tried to find something useful he could do indoors. He discovered that the best local folklore collection was in the Sunderland City Library rather than somewhere in Durham University. As Sunderland was only about ten miles away he decided to spend the morning doing research into Sarah's Lambton Worm and hope for better weather in the afternoon.

Sunderland City Library was housed in a building that spoke of prior civic prosperity with a rather incongruous modern glass addition. The librarian in charge, possibly glad of something interesting on a slow Thursday morning, was really helpful. She took him to the folklore section, described which parts were on microfiche and which reference tomes would be of most use to him. Cutter thanked her and hid a smile as she left. He hadn't been called 'Pet' before.

Sarah's notes on this legendary worm, or dragon, were brief. It had shown up in the River Wear about the time of the crusades. It destroyed crops, livestock and anyone stupid enough to get in its way. It was defeated by Sir John Lambton, son of the local lord, who followed the instructions of a local wisewoman and cut it into pieces. There was a song about it.

Unfortunately that was about all he could find that had any substance. One telling said the worm was associated with Penshaw Hill, another said it was Worm Hill. Both were in the same area near the River Wear. But that was about it. Cutter contemplated going on a visit to both places, but then decided it would be a waste of time. This was legend. Something to bear in mind if there was a future anomaly event nearby, but nothing that needed urgent work now.

Cutter put the Lambton Worm aside and disappeared into the online catalogue to see what else could be trawled up. He'd forgotten the fun in hunting down references and new topics to research. 

He found another worm in passing. Too far north to be the same as the Lambton Worm, but Cutter made a note for Sarah to investigate. Legendary or not, any creature that had got the name of 'The Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh' was worth further attention.

A catalogue entry caught his attention. 'Legendary Worms and Ley Lines' by Palgrave Routledge Esq. It sounded promising so he tracked it down on the shelves. It turned out to be a bound pamphlet published by a local folklore society in the early 1930s. Routledge was evidently a ley-line enthusiast and had traced several across Durham and Northumberland. One line, starting at the monastery at Jarrow and ending at Durham Cathedral, crossed the River Wear very near the Lambton estates. Routledge therefore speculated that the monster of legend had been brought from 'some other world or time by the action of the ley energies'. Only a few years ago Cutter would have dismissed this out of hand. Now he sat back in his chair and wondered if this researcher had stumbled upon a genuine insight. There was a document scanner in one corner of the room and Cutter stretched copyright rules by scanning in the whole pamphlet for Sarah to read. He hoped Routledge would forgive him.

His stomach rumbled and he realised it was after one o'clock. He was done here, but it hadn't been entirely unproductive. And yes, he had enjoyed himself. As he walked down the steps on to the street the sunshine made him smile. Maybe this time he would have a successful fossil hunt.

++++

Despite the good weather, Cutter's fossil hunting trip had a false start when he found that there was no easy way down to Cauldron Beach from Cauldron Point. He had to walk the entire length of the beach nearly to Seaham before he could find a safe way down the cliffs. Still, it was a nice day now that the mist had lifted and his extra walk gave him a chance to look for likely places to find fossils.

He knew, thanks to Liz's wife Katy, that no one local called it Cauldron Beach. It was the Blast Beach. Pit waste from the nearby colliery had been tipped out to sea and left to flow back in with each tide. The beach had been turned as black as any you'd find on a volcanic island. With the collieries gone, the beach had been cleaned up, but there were still some pit deposits left above the tideline and it was in these layers that the fossils were to be found. They didn't belong to the limestone cliffs but from much further underground and even out to sea.

Cutter made it down to the beach and started looking. He knew it was always easier to find seaside fossils after a storm had a chance to wash a few out of the cliffs. It had been calm recently, but he still had hopes.

He found a likely looking rock, took out his geologist’s hammer and gave it a hefty tap. It was solid sandstone. He grunted and went on looking. After half an hour of picking and tapping he hadn't found any fossils, but he had collected an audience of two boys of about twelve years old. 

'What you doing, mister?' 

'Looking for fossils.' Cutter tactfully didn't ask why they weren't in school.

'Found any?'

'Not yet.'

'How do you find them?'

'Well, you find a likely rock.' Cutter picked up another fist-sized sandstone boulder. 'And you split it with a hammer like this.' He did so. 'And if you're lucky…' Cutter opened it. 'You find a fossil like this!'

The two boys peered at the rocks he held in each hand. A bumpy, regular pattern took up two-thirds of each side of the split.

'Wow! Is that a snake?'

'It looks like it, doesn't it? But it's the bark of a tree that lived here a long, long time ago, called lepidodendron.'

With that two boys turned from being Cutter's audience into his research assistants. In fairly quick order he no longer had to hunt for likely rocks, they would bring them to him while he split them open. After an hour of happy clambering and scrabbling about the rocky shore, Jason and Mark went off with a fossil fern and another example of tree bark. 

Cutter sat on a rock and watched them go. He didn't know when he'd enjoyed himself quite so much in a while. He suspected it was possibly the most education the two had managed to pay attention to in quite a while. He didn't know if even the geekiest fossil fans among his students had ever been quite that enthusiastic.

He'd had fun. 

It was an unfamiliar sensation. 

He could hear Liz's voice in his mind telling him he needed to do this more often.

++++

Cutter's plan had been to walk down the beach, go around the point to Mayfield beach and then walk back up to the tower via the path under the viaduct. What he hadn't planned for was the tide coming in. It was just starting to approach the bottom of Cauldron Point as he reached it. Cutter hesitated, but saw that there was a thin path worn around the bottom of the cliff just above the incoming waves. He glanced back and decided to go for this way rather than walking the nearly the whole length of the beach again for the only other path off he could see.

He nearly made it. The path, if that is what it was, was one foot-width wide and he picked his way round it, holding on to the cliff side with his right hand. That would have worked, if his rucksack, which was only slung over his right shoulder, had not picked that time to slip down his arm and unbalance him.

His right foot went out from under him and he slid down the steeply sloping foot of the cliff until he came to a stop up to his knees in the incoming tide.

'Ach! Ya eejit!'

He hoisted his rucksack back up out of the way and waded round the rest of the point in the water. He was already wet through so a bit more wasn't going to make it any worse. He stomped up the beach thoroughly in a temper with himself as the water sloshed in his trainers.

He walked on part of the way as if he was determined to make the worst possible job of it and be as miserable as he could be. Then he realised that this wasn't necessary and dropped his rucksack by the side of the old pillbox and leaned against the concrete wall as he took his trainers off to empty them. 

There wasn't much water left in his shoes by this point, but he emptied it out anyway. His socks seemed to be the worst affected so he took them off and wrang them out before putting his bare feet back in the trainers. Wet socks in hand, he bent down to pick up his backpack. 

His eye was caught by a pile of jade green feathers piled up against a little boulder at the side of the wall. He'd seen feral parakeets several times in the London parks, but he hadn't realised they had colonised so far north. He bent down to look closer. The skeleton the feathers had belonged to was there. He carefully picked up the skull and froze. This was no parakeet skull. For a start, parakeets didn't have teeth and this definitely did. Holding his breath he searched among the gravel for more clues and then he found it. A tiny, sickle claw no more than half a centimetre in length, but unmistakable. 

Micro-raptor.

Cutter straightened up and looked around as if he had managed to miss the anomaly the creature had come through. It wasn't there, of course, this little dinosaur was long dead and its anomaly long gone.

They were right. The observer corps had seen something all those years ago. But this skeleton was much more recent. Maybe the past year or so. Why hadn't the ADD detected it? Or had it and it hadn't been worth investigating like the one in Anglesey?

He arranged the bones he could find and a few of the feathers on one of his socks and took a picture with his phone. He had only one bar of network connection, but he addressed it to Connor and pressed 'Send'. 

Then he picked up his backpack and walked up the path, half-expecting a flock of raptors to appear out of the wild rhubarb.


	5. Chapter 5

Cutter was still squelching in his shoes as he walked past the farmhouse on his way to the tower. Anne Middleham must have been looking for him because she came out of the door to meet him as he passed their gate. Whatever she had planned to say went begging as she took in his wet clothes.

'What happened to you?'

'I got caught by the tide.' Cutter waved off her concern. 'It's nothing. Just wet.'

Anne rolled her eyes. 'I was going to give you some fresh towels, but do you want a washing capsule to get them clean? There's a washing machine in the tower?'

Cutter looked down at his jeans. 'If you're sure it's no trouble?'

'Not a bit. Come back to the house and I'll give you both.'

Cutter stood at the farmhouse door after refusing Anne's invitation to track wet into her kitchen. He heard her bustling about when his phone rang. It was Connor.

'Professor! I can't believe you found that!'

'You know what it is?'

'Graciliraptor is the nearest to it.'

'Looks like your UFO reports were right. There is something happening here.'

There was a rustling of paper down the phone. 'If the calculations are right, it could be tonight, Professor.'

'I know. I'm going to keep a watch tonight. See if I can spot something happening. You need to monitor it as well. See if shows up on the ADD.'

'I will. It's exciting stuff!'

Cutter closed the call. You could never fault Connor for his enthusiasm.

He turned back to the here and now to find Anne standing just inside the doorway. She held out a small pile of towels with a washing capsule sitting on top of them.

'Sorry.' Cutter jerked his thumb back towards an imaginary companion. 'Office.'

'I understand. It's not like this job is nine to five.' She handed him her burden. 'Have a nice evening.'

Cutter thanked her and turned to make his damp way towards the tower. His thoughts were focussed on whether there would be an anomaly event that night and if anything would come out of it.

++++  
Nick couldn't move his arms. He was fastened to the side of the concrete pill box. His head felt fuzzy, but shaking it was like trying to move a mountain. He forced his eyes open. Liz Armstrong was standing in front of him. She was holding sheets of colouring paper with crayon drawings all over them. She came close to him and started pasting them all over his body.

'What are you doing?' 

'This is important,' she told him. 'This is the important thing, not the other.'

'What other?'

'It’s in front of you.' This was a male voice. Cutter forced his head round and saw it was the handsome young man from the Black Diamond. He was carrying a large, cardboard box. There was a sound of scratching coming from within it.

Liz continued to stick the coloured paper all over him. He could feel the coldness of the glue seeping through his clothes.

He tried to move again, but it was no good. 

Liz started to paste the paper over his head.

Cutter looked towards the young man. 'You're not helping,' Cutter said.

'You're not my problem.' 

The man tipped over the box and a huge flock of small, coloured raptors fell out of it. They made a beeline for Cutter and started to climb up his body.

Cutter startled himself awake. He was slumped in one of the armchairs. He dabbed at the side of his mouth at the dampness where he had drooled in his sleep. He stood up and went to the kitchen, ran the cold tap and washed his face. In the light of the westering sun he examined his shirt. The damp patch looked bigger than would dry out in an hour. He'd have to change it.

He shoved a chilli con carne and rice ready meal in the microwave and went up the stairs to the bedroom. He heard the ping to say it was ready while he had his head in a clean shirt.

Very few chilli and rice ready meals are memorable and Cutter sat at the table and ate it straight from the packaging, not bothering to plate it up. He moved spoon from meal to mouth without conscious effort. He was reading some of the reports that Connor had sent him about the UFO sightings. He had dismissed them at the time, but now maybe they would turn out to be more important than he reckoned.

An echo of his dream came into his mind. He shivered as though icy fingers had traced a line down his spine. What was important here? He shook his head. Maybe tonight would give him some pointers to the answers if not the answers themselves.

He just hoped he was asking the right questions.

++++  
Cutter checked his watch again. 9:30. It was nearly time to go. The sun was just setting and he would be able to walk to the beach without much need of a torch. The UFO reports he had from the Observer Corps varied in when the possible anomalies were sighted from 10:30pm to 1:30am. Cutter decided to give his timing a wide margin of error.

He checked his watch again and then decided it wasn’t worth obeying some arbitrary timetable he’d set himself. He put on his jacket, checked that the torch in his backpack was working and left the tower.

It had clouded over since he had been inside and it was darker than he had hoped it would be. Still, there was enough light to guide his footsteps and he didn’t need to use his torch.

He walked the now familiar path across the farm. He was pleased that there was no one around at the farmhouse. He didn’t really want to explain what he was doing to the Middlehams or anyone else. Fanciful didn’t even begin to cover it.

As he walked on he spotted some figures moving around the lorry trailer park. An instinct made him pull closer to the side of one of the farm sheds to be less obvious. He crept closer to the fence.

Something seemed odd about what was happening. The figure moving about the trailers wasn’t Middleham. A trailer door swung open. Cutter couldn’t see inside it, but two figures suddenly appeared in the field. These Cutter did recognise. They had been on leaflets he’d seen nearly every day since he arrived in Mayfield. The two missing refugees.

Cutter cut off a gasp and stared in shock.

There was a hint of a sound behind him. He turned, but there was a blow to his head he heard as much as felt. And then there was the ground coming up to meet him.

++++  
Cutter came back into full consciousness to find himself on his back, his hands tied in front of him. Dave Middleham stood over him with a shotgun pointing in Cutter’s face.

‘What?’

Middleham took a step back and gestured with his gun. ‘Get up.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Get up.’

Cutter forced himself to focus. He struggled to his feet. 

‘Now pick your bag up and walk.’

Cutter bent down to pick up his bag and the movement made his head spin. He took a side step to steady himself.

‘Pick your bag up.’ Middleham’s voice held no sense of sympathy, only cold purpose.

Cutter bent again and this time managed to pick up the rucksack. 

‘Walk.’

‘Where?’

‘The beach. You know the way.’

Cutter turned and walked along the path to the beach. In addition to the remnants of the blow to his head he was struggling to keep up with the developments. It wasn’t so much the concept that Middleham was involved in the disappearance of the two refugees, it was the change from friendly farmer and host to cold-eyed man who handled a shotgun with chilling competence.

It was dark under the trees in the valley that led under the viaduct. It was dark, too, in the shadow of the cliff where Cutter was made to sit beside the woman and her child and two other men. The other prisoners’ heads lolled on their shoulders and they kept falling sideways. Cutter couldn’t see them clearly, but he guessed they had been drugged.

Anne Middleham stood to one side by two other men that Cutter now recognised. Robson and Scott, the pub landlords.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Cutter asked.

‘Someone has to,’ Anne said. ‘Someone always has to take out the rubbish.’

‘But you can’t achieve anything like this.’

‘Oh, there’s more than this lot. We’ll get rid of enough so that maybe they’ll get enough sense in their heads to leave decent countries alone.’

Something clicked in Cutter’s mind. ‘Claire tells you where they are, doesn’t she? Does she use her social worker ID to help you kidnap them?’

‘Oh, you’re so clever, aren’t you? So clever we had you pegged as soon as you got out of the car.’ Anne’s mouth twisted in her contempt for him.

‘What are you going to do with us?’

‘Something you can’t imagine.’

Cutter felt an icy finger trace its way down his spine because he could imagine it all too well. There was an anomaly and they were using it to get rid of the people they had kidnapped.

The light faded and the moon came out. By its light, Cutter could tell that they were by the stone arches of the limestone kilns he had found. He thought back to the conversation he had had with Dave Middleham about them. He realised he’d been blundering about on the edges of this situation without knowing it ever since he arrived. No wonder they thought he was investigating them. 

An owl hooted above the cliffs and as Cutter looked in its direction a fractured crystal of light appeared inside the arch of the largest kiln. 

Cutter had been tensing himself, hoping for some surprise from his captors he could exploit when the anomaly arrived. But there was no such surprise. Middleham took a firmer hold on his shotgun, evidently having faced the magnetic pull of an anomaly before. 

Scott and Robson efficiently moved forward and grabbed the two drugged men. They were pushed through the anomaly and then it was the turn of the girl and her mother. Anne snatched his backpack out of his hands and lobbed it through the sparkling light. Robson reached down and hauled Cutter to his feet.

‘Your turn!’

Light suddenly blazed out to their right. There were a couple of loud bangs. Black figures wielding machine guns converged on them. The air was filled with shouts and Cutter could hear the sound of outboard motors coming from the sea. 

Robson’s grip on him lessened. Cutter ducked down to break the hold and then he sprang forward. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew exactly where he needed to be. 

He dived through the anomaly.

++++  
Cutter stumbled as he came through the anomaly into a river valley of lush vegetation and towering trees. The sun shone brightly and the air felt humid. Cutter looked down to see one of the refugees lying prone by the anomaly. The other three had made their way a few metres ahead and were huddled together on the ground. Cutter walked towards them.

'Shit!'

The voice came from behind him. Cutter turned to see a figure in black battle dress rip a set of night-vision goggles from his face. It was the man from the pub. He gazed at the scene around him with wonder on his face and then his training clearly took over. 

'Professor,' he said, pulling a knife from his tac vest. 'I'm Elvis Harte. Where are we?'

'Cretaceous,' Cutter answered as the soldier quickly cut his bonds.

Harte looked impressed. 

'What was happening back there?' Cutter asked.

'Impromptu beach assault by the SBS. They don't get to do them for real that often, so they're a bit enthusiastic.'

'So it was the Middlehams you were watching?'

Harte nodded. 'Had our eye on them for a while. We thought they were dumping the poor sods at sea, hence the SBS. This, we didn't expect.' He gestured at the landscape.

Cutter nodded. 'We have to get them back. Is it safe?'

'Should be.'

They went to the man beside the anomaly and between them half lifted, half rolled him through.

'The anomaly is fading,' Cutter said. 'We need to be quick.'

They went to the woman and child next. Cutter lifted the little girl into his arms and Harte pulled the woman to her feet. Cutter ran to the anomaly but he was only a couple of feet away when it flickered suddenly and vanished.

'Well, fuck,' said Harte.

The End


End file.
